What Did They Feel?
by DuoCorda
Summary: What Bobby and Alex were feeling after Alex resigned at the end of Loyalty Part II.  My first entry onto this very entertaining site.    Disclaimer:  I do not own these characters - darn.


"_It is difficult sometimes to speak to someone that you care about with the voice of a primitive heart." - __- Duo Corda_

**How Did They Feel?**

He felt nothing . . . n o t h i n g. There was no anger, no embarrassment, no pain . . . just nothing.

His only thought was to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. He did not feel the need to analyze what had just happened. He was void of any affect. He did not even glance over at the squad room for a final farewell or a f*** you too . . . because he felt nothing.

Outside of 1PP there was the usual New York City dissonance - blaring sirens, car horns, and incessant chatter as he walked to the subway; but he was oblivious to it all; none of it touched him. In his mind there was only silence . . . finally. Even her voice was gone

. . . because he could feel nothing.

She felt everything . . . e v e r y t h i n g. Profound sadness . . . guilt and a searing anger approaching the depths of hatred because she felt everything.

She became dizzy and felt a bit disoriented as a million thoughts crossed her mind. What had she just done? She barely made it over to her desk in the bull pen to sit down. It took every ounce of strength to regain what was left of her composure. She glanced around the squad room to see if anyone had noticed, if anyone was still there, and then her eyes stopped at his empty desk - his empty chair. She was alone and on the brink of falling apart.

Quickly quickly she grabbed what she could from her desk and ran out

. . . because she could feel everything.

He simply sat in his kitchen for what may have been minutes or hours and just stared. With the exception of one fatigued sigh, his breaths were short and shallow. He had retreated into a near comatose state - involatible and impenetratable. Although Captain Ross had once said that he had "a rep for over thinking" and he did routinely disappear into deep thoughts, he had never been to this place before.

He eventually put his head down on the kitchen table amongst some papers and closed his eyes. It took too much effort to actually get up and get into bed - even if fully clothed.

And there he was, back at 1PP this time in the interrogation room with her and that son-of-a-bitch Declan Gage. "You're free now Bobby." At that putrid pronouncement he woke up startled and soaked in sweat. A new series of nightmares was beginning and his newly found silence, whether healthy or not, was shattered.

She couldn't drive home fast enough and nearly collided with a bus as her thoughts were elsewhere. This was just not like her. Visibly shaken she pulled over and left her car parked on some street along the way and hailed a taxi.

As she sat down in the back seat her eyes were already burning and the pain in her throat was unbearable. Had it not been for some nonsense on "Taxi-TV" the driver would have heard her heart pounding and her quiet sobbing. Dear God it took forever to get home. When she finally arrived, it was all she could do not to break down right in front of her building; but once inside of her apartment she unleashed a raw and guttural cry that had been building for days, perhaps even for years. She collapsed on the floor and cried herself in to a near psychotic state.

There was no way he could sleep now. He poured himself several drinks and was up all night reliving the events of the past weeks.

He was starting to feel now . . . but all of his thoughts led to anger, that his captain had been murdered . . . anger, at being stonewalled by the FBI . . . anger, over the nagging possibility that his initial investigation may have contributed to Ross' death . . . anger that they had to release Hassan . . . anger, at . . . he could have never done that to her . . . utter those words. And to her credit, she actually didn't although he instinctively knew, "I mean I get it I'm fired." He would have found another way to spare her from participating in a brass orchestrated lynching, and keep their partner . . . their relationship alive - their relationship.

He wasn't angry with her, he was angry with the position that they had put her in. He knew that she hadn't betrayed him. He knew that. She deserved to be captain but he was at a loss because he could no longer be there with her, for her, near her. Even through alcohol dulled senses

. . . he was starting to feel.

It was daybreak when she awoke and found herself still lying on the floor. She was stiff but forced herself to get up and make her way to the bedroom where she undressed and tumbled into bed.

She was numb.

And there she was back at 1PP this time in the morgue with Ross and Rogers . . . and him, in a very agitated state. "Don't take that side," he shouted. " You have to know that I would never chose them over you," she pleaded.

Even in a state of, as Carl Jung refers to as " personal unconsciousness," her psyche was hopelessly attuned to him. "Bobby I wasn't going to let them hurt you. Bobby you know what they want you know what they want. Bobby you are the best . . . and I refuse to let them tear us apart."

She could no longer see his face because Ross and Rogers were blocking her view. But then she felt that awkward and unexpected kiss on the cheek. She was back in the captain's office with Bobby. But when she turned to embrace him, this time he was not there. For the second time in less than 24 hours she was alone in the squad room, even if it was only a dream.

She woke up, not quite sure of where she was, her heart lamenting over incredible losses. Lamenting over her partner . . . their relationship

. . . and she was still numb.

"Making deals that are painful, doing things that we hate that's part of our job." She had just said that to Nichols not less than 24 hours ago, and it was very painful for her. He had never seen her cry before. And he knew that he would never see it - see her again.

He hated what he had done, what he had to do, but it was part of the job and he was devoted to her; but she would be devoted to the job now, and on her off days she would be with her family, her nephew. He could not - would not intrude on her life.

As captain her presence on the force would give the NYPD a "reputational intelligence." Her jacket was virtually spotless except for that one incident courtesy of his undercover at Tates. She really could no longer afford to be seen in his company.

"You're free now Eames," he said in a barely audible voice. "Wait! What the . . . I sound like f***ing Declan Gage. F*** if I end up like that murdering son-of-a-bitch_." _He looked around his kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. The walls were covered with reports, charts, and crime scene photos. The table was covered with files, papers, and books. He had even been dining over the kitchen sink while reading autopsy reports. Isn't that what Jo Gage said dinnertime was kind of like at her house when she was a young girl?

That "Dec" would read coroner reports at the dinner table. _"Well at least," _he though_, "I wouldn't play guess the serial killer with my kids, that is if I had any._" "Kids . . . that's a scary thought given my gene pool," and Jo's ill fated prediction that his life would somehow mirror hers and Declan's didn't help. _"Some homes" _she had said quoting Dec_, "some homes were laboratories for either serial killers or crusading profilers."_Yes he was good at profiling - dare he say one of the best, but he was damned if he was going to let it destroy his life the way that it had destroyed Declan's and the way that Declan had destroyed Jo's. "That narcissistic demented bastard not only turned his own daughter into a serial killer, he brought back that bitch Nicole Wallace to . . ." he sighs heavily "Frank." He had a flashback of Frank's lifeless body sprawled on the pavement, and the argument they'd had a year earlier . . . the last time he had seen him alive. He never got a chance to make amends. Perhaps that's why he had been so adamant about finding Donny.

He went over to a closet that he'd used to store files and flipped through a box on the floor. CARLSON, DONNY the file read. Inside were papers and his nephew's picture - tattered and folded. He took it out and carefully placed it on the mantle between the picture of he and Frank as children and the one of his niece Molly. That beautiful photograph of Francis Goren in her Jacqueline Kennedy attire, stood prominently on the opposite side of the one of he and Frank.

He had a niece and a nephew. Even though Donny was missing and Molly and his other newly found relatives were miles away, he had family. He smiled a little as he reminisced a bit at the initial awkwardness of actually sitting at the dinner table with them. But there was a certain familiarity that was comforting. He looked at his mother's picture and remembered something that she often said to him as a child "the universe is about change Bobby. Our life is what our thoughts make it." She could quote Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. What a cruel twist of fate that her own thoughts had been captured by an unforgiving disease. His countenance changed. "So what's your excuse Goren," he thought aloud. "She couldn't help herself but there isn't a damn thing wrong with you." He started pacing. "So you're in transition because of something that you believed in, and you're alone because of someone that you believe in . . . and also because of something somebody said, no, some lunatics said might or might not happen and that I could go either way because of my father and either become a serial killer sitting on death row or a demented profiler eating spoiled food with dirty fingernails . . . well f*** you Gage. F*** the both of you."

And in one fell swoop, the papers were on the floor, a glass was shattered, and the kitchen table was turned on its side. "THIS IS MY LIFE AND NOBODY'S GOING TO TELL ME WHO I AM!" He'd said those words before but never with this much intensity and raw emotion. He sat on the floor and buried his head in his hands.

Some critics have argued that an aggressive release of emotion, particularly anger, does little if anything to facilitate change. Bobby didn't simply have a temper tantrum or "melt down" as they use to say at the squad. He purged himself; he purged himself of all of the toxicity that he had been carrying around since childhood. His catharsis was complete because he released all of the stress, grief, disappointments, anger, hurt, pain, worry, self doubt, and all of the images of the worst kind of human depravity that he'd witnessed as a police officer over the years. He somehow came into the realization that all of those things - the worry, the self-doubt - really wasn't worth it anymore, if ever at all. "Maybe Eames was right," he chuckled, "maybe I do have ADD."

It was clear to him now that he could no longer indulge in these "emotional excesses," and that he would have to learn to accept the fact that he could no longer, nor should he ever have to, tolerate the things that he had to tolerate as a younger man, nor feel responsible for every misfortune that somehow crept into his life. He was older now. He had nothing to prove to anyone and he could, if he would just let himself, be happy. Gage was so wrong about him - bastard.

As much as it pained him, he was going to give up searching for Donny, at least actively. He knew that as with most runaways, unless Donny wanted to be found - wanted to be helped, he'd just run away again. Plus he knew that if he found him he'd have to turn him in for escaping from Tates and Donny would resent him. He didn't want a repeat of he and Frank's relationship during their latter years. "When Donny is ready, he'll reach out and I'll be there. We'll work it out . . . and as for her? Well . . .".

He had decided that he was not going to spend his life yearning after someone who he could never have or looking for someone who didn't want to be found or obsessing over a profession that did not want him anymore. He was by no means cured, but he was getting better and knew exactly what he needed to do

. . . and he felt alive.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon and she was still in bed. For a second she felt fine, but then she heard those damn pigeons cooing at her window. And then she remembered yesterday. "Damn flying rats."

She had wanted so badly to believe that her promotion was based on merit. But she knew that it was not. They'd used her in the cruelest way. She had devoted her entire adult life to the job . . . and the casualties were great.

They'd treated her like a perp offering her the coveted captaincy position in exchange for her flipping on her partner. But they had severely underestimated her integrity. Her Dad may have made a mistake but she sure as hell wasn't going too.

"And why in the hell did they want me to be captain so fast for anyway? I haven't even taken the freakin' captains exam yet," she said.

She sat up in bed to think because something was just not right. _"What if I had said no? Would they have still let me keep my job?_

And then it dawned on her. MCS had gone through too many captains in such a relatively short period of time. Bobby must have stumbled upon something big. But what? Whatever is was Deakins didn't go for it and he lost his job. Ross didn't go for it and he lost his life.

Now she was mad - pissed.

She got up and got dressed. She made coffee and sat at the kitchen table._ "Did they want to make me captain because they thought that they could somehow control me? Because the prestige would be so great - first women MCS captain - that I would just go along with whatever they said. That I would be loathed not to because it would mean another black mark on the Eames' legacy with the NYPD?"_

"Captain pro tem my ass. More like captain nomine tantum (in name only)." She could play politics with the best of them but there was no way in hell that she was going to go along with this. She knew she made the right decision - she knew it, because she smelled wide scale corruption who knows how far up the NYPD food chain. There was no way in hell that she was going to be the face of 'despotism in the Brass oligarchy.' She had to talk to Bobby. She grabbed her phone before she knew it and dialed his number. She was back

. . . and she felt alive.

Her call went straight to voice mail. She grabbed her coat and car keys and rushed out of the front door. "Where's my damn my car?" She'd forgotten that she had left it parked on some street on the way home. "Damn!".

She ran down the street to hail a taxi. No time to pick up her car which was actually closer than Bobby's house. This time there were no tears, only a determination to see him so that they could get to the bottom of this mess at MCS. She hadn't seen him since yesterday, but it felt like an eternity. She'd have to put whatever she was feeling aside because they had a case to solve. "Great that's all I need is more drama in my life," she said. "What was that lady?" "What?" "You said something." "No just drive please I'm kind of in a hurry."

She couldn't get there fast enough. It was almost as if the taxi driver sensed that she was a cop and intentionally drove 20 miles an hour below the speed limit." You can get a ticket for going too slow too you know," she said. "Ma'am?" "Can you just drive a little faster I'm in a hurry."

The driver turned onto Bobby's street. She spotted his house. She had been there dozens of times before over the years but it was different this time. She was nervous. She hadn't seen him since yesterday. What was she going to say? She couldn't just immediately start talking about the case - that would seem too impersonal. She also couldn't tell him how she really felt because it was complicated and not easily put into words. It is difficult sometimes to speak to someone that you care about with the voice of a primitive heart, especially someone that you've worked closely with - almost intimately with for nearly a decade.

What do you say to that person who was there to share your joy of a new life and the sadness that followed. The person who was also there to share your stress, grief disappointments anger, hurt pain, self doubt and all of the images of human depravity that you've witnessed as a police officer over the years. He was indeed, as another prominent female detective once said of her male partner, 'the longest relationship she had ever had with a man.'

She got out of the taxi, took a deep breath and walked towards his house. "Concentrate Alex you're here because there's a problem at work - where you use to work. Oh God how am I going to tell him that I resigned yesterday?" She rang the doorbell and called out "Bobby its me Eames are you home?" She knocked, "Bobby are you there?" She was both annoyed and relieved that he was not home. She walked down to the corner bodega but he wasn't there either. She bought a cup of coffee and went back to wait on his steps.

"_He couldn't possibly hold yesterday against me and not want to talk to me – to work with me anymore. We're still partners no matter what. . . and it has always been about catching the bad guys so this shouldn't be any different." _

Only once had he ever rebuffed her . . . on that thanksgiving day when he told her to 'back off' in the squad room. But hadn't she done the same to him when he tried to comfort her at Ross' murder scene and she moved away from him. _"That was different,"_ she told herself. _"I am a female cop and I couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness or give anyone the impression that something was going on between me and Bobby. I had to be tough . . . even though I really didn't want to let him go."_

"Eames what are you doing here?". "Bobby," she was startled and stood up abruptly. "Hi, I tried calling you a few times."

"Eames is something wrong?"

"No, no I was just going to . . . pick up my car ('yeah right') and I thought that . . . you've got cartons. Kind of early for spring cleaning don't you think?"

"Come inside its freezing out here. I'll take you to get your car. Where is it anyway?" She followed him inside only to have her worst fears confirmed. Bobby was packing. The kitchen cabinets had been emptied. His book cases were mostly vacant with some books arranged in boxes and others neatly piled on the floor. There were overstuffed garbage bags filled with paper shreddings in the kitchen.

"Bobby what is all of this?" He stood the cartons up against the refrigerator and stared at the floor. He couldn't look at her.

"You're leaving aren't you . . . its because of me and yesterday isn't it . . .".

"No, Eames."

"You weren't even going to tell me were you?"

"No, I mean yes I mean I . . ."

"Which is it detective. Yes I'm leaving and I wasn't going to tell you or no I wasn't going to tell you that I'm leaving."

"Its not like that Eames.".

"Isn't it Bobby? After everything we've been through you suddenly decide to pull up stakes and leave town without as much as a phone call. Why do you do this to me Bobby - why? We've been through this before. We're partners . . .".

"No Eames we're not. In case you've forgotten I'm no longer with the department."

"Well neither am I!"

"What?"

She sighs, "I'm not with the department anymore. I quit - yesterday."

"I don't understand? Why?"

She's become nearly hysterical at this point. "Why? Why do you think Bobby? Do you actually think that I could have done that to you - fire you from a job that we both know you love just for the sake of a stupid promotion? Do you really think that I could have hurt you that way? You really don't know me after all do you detective. "

"Eames. . . I . . about yesterday, I need to tell you something."

"I don't want to talk about yesterday, I want to talk about today - us. If I'm not your partner anymore then what am I to you Bobby - huh? What am I to you?"

"Everything Eames, you're everything to me."

"Then why are you leaving?"

"You would have been too busy as the new captain and you wouldn't have time for . . ."

"That was yesterday. What about today Bobby? Why are you leaving?"

"I'm not really sure that I am now. There may be some things that we need to talk about . . . things that should be said in person and not on the phone."

"I would like that."

He refrained from wiping a single tear that had fallen on her cheek. He saw it as a reflection of the depth of her beauty.

Although they "had some things to talk about," little else was said that afternoon. They had already conveyed what was in their hearts. For the first time, while standing in his kitchen, they had been completely honest, because

. . . now they could feel each other.


End file.
